


Eyes

by Deejaymil



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Awkward Reid is Awkward, Disgustingly fluffy, Established Relationship, F/M, Falling In Love, Hammocks, He totally tips the thing though, Holidays, PWP, Romance, Saucy Em is Saucy, Slow Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-25 00:40:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10753122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deejaymil/pseuds/Deejaymil
Summary: He's sure she's got the wrong man, if she expects him to be able to get in a hammock with her. At least, not without tipping the thing.As it turns out, Emily Prentiss always gets her way.





	Eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blythechild](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blythechild/gifts).



> A dual prompt this one--eyes and the pairing came from the wonderful Blythechild, and the setting from my lovely Ato!
> 
> Prompt: Soft and gentle. There's a hammock and a cool summer breeze blowing past.

He’s sure she’s got the wrong man.

“That’s a hammock,” he states bluntly, folding his arms self-consciously over the viciously coloured tropical shirt she’d bought him earlier that day. It’s almost as bad as the shorts, the ones that show off his scrawny legs and thickly scarred knee. Almost. Does she realize there’s no way _he’s_ going to get into that?

“No shit, Spencer,” she replies, and tumbles back into it with obscene grace. He blinks and she’s in, orange sarong still in place, one sandal hanging loose from a gently arched foot. Dark eyes study him with her mouth curled kindly upwards. The thin lines of summer sun leaking in through the shaded palms above keep catching coppery lights in her dark hair and setting it to glittering. “Now, get in.”

“Em,” he says, hands out now for mercy, but she’s never been merciful. Especially not on a holiday she’d dragged him on, threatening beaches and sunburns and sand-borne pathogens. But she’s been kind so far. There’s been beaches, seen from afar, and a small sunburn that brings out a surprising number of freckles on her gorgeously pale shoulders, and no pathogens in sight yet. Which, as he’s told her, isn’t exactly comforting. But there’s nothing kind about the hand that grabs his and hauls him onto the hammock.

He knees her in the belly, there’s a tumbling squeal, and they both end up on the ground. Her straddling him and giggling, his head aching slightly. “You’re so awkward,” she grumbles, pinching his arm. “All elbows.”

“I’m gangly,” he replies haughtily. She responds by kissing him, once on the nose, and again by brushing her lips across his eyelid. Automatically, he closes them. She hovers, her nose brushing his forehead, before ducking away. There’s a wicked glint in her eyes as she studies him, and he always feels captured by that catlike stare. Captured and pinned but in the best kind of way, and she knows the quickest way to get to him is to level _that_ kind of gaze at him. Hot and heady and promising more; he’s thankful for the walls around their hotel beachside room and the paved garden they’re sheltered in, and for the privacy they offer as that gaze goes straight from his slowly flushing face and down his spine to spark between his hips. It’s a gorgeous gaze from a gorgeous woman and he knows he looks silly and a little head-over-heels right now, but he’s not really sorry at all.

“Take two,” she murmurs, and he’s too awestruck to argue. Just takes her hand and lets her pull him upright. But they don’t go straight for the threateningly rocking hammock; instead, she pulls him tight with their hips swaying together. Instead, she wraps her hands around the back of his head, fingers curling deep through wild hair, and she pulls him down to tuck their noses together. They don’t kiss. They don’t speak. They just stand together, his arms closing around her lithe form against his and her fingers massaging his scalp, breathing in each other. On every sway, their noses bump, their lips brush, their breath hitches. She’s stunning. He’s helpless. Their eyes are open and he can see the dazed kind of _oh_ flickering through her expression as she registers the open adoration in his.

He's watching them fall, and they’re barely even thinking.

She nudges her nose forward, bumps his cheek. Nuzzles him and murmurs, “Gawky,” with a low chuckle that’s velvety rich.

He kisses her. A touch at first. Just their lips together, barely moving, until she whispers, _oh_ , and pushes deeper. Their lips slip over, he slips in, tastes her. Tastes sunscreen and the sun and the summer surrounding them. A breeze brushes by. It tugs at their hair, their hands, their clothes. He follows the breeze’s directions with a dazed kind of inevitability, finding the thin tie of the sarong as Emily moans a little into his mouth and melts against his body. He blinks, careful, watching her pupils dilate as his fingers trace her body; her sides, her arms, leaving lines of heat on her skin where they pass. Finally, her shoulders—one ducks up to trace the shape of her lip and she brings her mouth to his fingertip and closes her lips around it, a slow, hot pull that tugs a noise from his lips and a twitch of hungry interest between his legs—and as he sweeps his hands down again, he brings with it the folds of cloth she’s wearing. Orange and yellow and vivid red, it all tumbles to pool down around her now bare feet, the sandals kicked aside. She stands in front of him, clasped against him, bare and unashamed and absolutely stunning.

“So beautiful,” he breathes, and kisses her hungrily. Hands roaming; she’s undoing his shirt. “Hammock still?”

“A dangerous game,” she replies, stepping back and letting him follow. The shirt falls. His pants follow. They’re naked in the summer breeze under the dots of leaf-blocked sun. She turns to saunter back to the hammock and he examines her with open interest, already half-hard and curving towards her. The arch of her ass that he reaches out to trail a finger down, ignoring her laugh, the line of bumps that denote her spine. He counts them as they walk, eyes distracted by the dark tattoo in the dip of her shoulder-blade. Two die. He ducks forward and brushes his lips against them. There’s another on her chest when she lays back with indecent ease onto the hammock. He touches that one with a steady finger; it covers where Doyle marked her and she hates him ignoring it.

_Mark it in return,_ she tells him, so he bows over her with his hand on her hip to steady himself, and finds it with his mouth. _Show him he can’t change this._

He does. Her heart hammers, just like it does whenever he touches the rough-smooth skin of the hidden brand, and his other hand touches the scar on her belly. “You’re perfect,” he reassures her, looking at her with his own eyes darkly hungry. “Remember that. In my eyes, you’re perfect.”

“You’ve got bad vision,” she pants, but she’s gasping a little and holds her hands out to him. He lets her help him, slow and careful, onto the hammock alongside her. They sway, together, and his heart is nervous and his hands clammy as he waits to be dumped on his bare ass by the tempestuous cradle. But she holds him close and he relaxes down, skin against skin with her wiggling around until she’s nestled between his legs with her head on his heart and one hand lazily tracing lines along the length of his dick.

And they sway. Time passes. They move from aroused to sleepy to sleepy-aroused and do little more than fumble lazily at each other. She lets him slip his fingers inside her, rolling her hips up towards him and tipping the hammock dangerously, but he doesn’t get her off. She retaliates by curling her hand around him and stroking, stroking, stroking, while her wicked mouth murmurs all the things he wishes she’d do to him.

But in the end, the night falls around them. Sunset paints them pink and blue with dusky whispers of the oncoming night. They’re overwarm, content, half-asleep.

She slides along him and sinks down indolently until he’s seated comfortably inside her warm, tight body. The hammock sways with the warm breeze. Neither really moves beyond their mouths finding each other over and over again and their roaming hands. She’s slick and rippling around him. He’s sated with his life. And he rocks, slowly, up. Into her and out. Making her exhale in a low, long groan. He does it again. And again. Slowly. Steadily.

She speeds up first but not by much. It’s a soft undoing of each other, and they don’t break eye-contact. They watch each other. They watch each other gasp and writhe as the slow becomes fast, as her hips begin to sway quicker, as the muscles on his abdomen tense and warn them he’s falling.

She watches as he says: “I love you.”

He watches as she tilts her head back to the stars above reflected in dark eyes and rasps out: “Of course you do. Not as much as I, ah, _fuck_ , love you,” and comes. Unhurried and luxurious and he pulls her against him, the first time they break eye contact as she mewls and nuzzles into his throat, and he pumps slowly into her rippling body. He fucks her through the aftershock, feeling her quivering body slow and her heart quicken, feeling her register him cresting after her. The hammock pitches below them, ensuring they’re careful, ensuring they’re stately.

“Your turn,” she says, snapping her hips down to take him as far as she can and drawing a rough _uh_ from his throat. “Come for me, love. As deep as you can.”

“I—” he manages, speeding up in two long strokes and ramming home. But it’s not enough. He just. He needs. Something. “Ah…”

She leans down, takes his lips, kisses him hungrily until he’s dizzy and desperate for air. Their eyes meet and hers are dark dark dark and so impossibly endless, he’s pinned, trapped, lost…

“Now,” those eyes tell him. _Now._

He does. He falls. It takes forever.

But when he opens his eyes, sticky and warm and shaking, she’s still there. The summer breeze brushes them; insects sing around their secret world.

“Told you hammocks are fun,” she tells him saucily, and he’s too breathless to answer.


End file.
